At a recent panel on queer horror last month, I was struck by a comment from co-panelists Katie Connell and Joshua Dare about the current state of queer female-identifying horror directors. The discussion began with a definition and brief historical overview of queer horror, then shifted into a survey of the current state of representation. Concerns about the tendency to spotlight films featuring gay men at the expense of their lesbian counterparts gave way to a cautiously optimistic listing of recent films featuring out and proud women. As we rattled off a number of films, however, we discovered a strange pattern: nearly all of these films were directed by straight white men.

Let’s backtrack a little to consider the current state of queer horror, which has notably made a number of gains and increased prominence in the last twenty years. A recent guide created by Vulture entitled “55 Essential Queer Horror Films” identified key shifts in the 21st century that reduced the stigma around queer characters, thereby enabling them to move from marginal to central, sometimes even lead, roles. In the 2000s, films such as Hellbent, High Tension and Seed of Chucky offered visible, albeit problematic, depictions of gay men, lesbians and trans characters.

With the advent of gay marriage in the 2010s, queer figures in horror have become even more normalized, nuanced and fleshed out. The result has been some of the most intriguing texts to date, the vast majority of which are about queer females. Films such as Jennifer’s Body (Kusama, 2009), All Cheerleaders Die (McKee, 2013), The Neon Demon (Winding Refn, 2016), Thelma (Trier, 2017), What Keeps You Alive (Minihan, 2018) and Blue My Mind (Bruehlmann, 2018) all feature complicated and fascinating lesbian characters.

Bruehlmann’s Blue My Mind

A cursory glance, however, reveals that all but two of those films were directed by straight white men – a number that is worth pausing over. While there is obviously nothing that restricts one group from telling the stories of another, the lack of female directors is note-worthy, particularly given the problematic historical depiction of lesbians as a source of titillation for the male gaze.

This disjunction is not severe when compared to publicly “out” gay male directors, who have become increasingly prominent in recent years. Renowned master of horror Don Mancini has kept Chucky and the Child’s Play franchise alive and sexually subversive for 30 years. Up and coming directors Chris Peckover (Better Watch Out) and David Freyne (The Cured) have both delivered horror films that play with notions of masculinity and lends themselves to queer takes. And recent Oscar winner Luca Guadagino’s Suspiria, featuring a nearly all-female cast, is filled with sexual connotations and feminist readings.

Stewart Thorndike’s Lyle

The simple fact is that representation and visibility matters. Even in horror fandom, there remains a frustrating need to explain why female characters and creators matters, although the recent uptick in feminist horror criticism that began with AxWound and Women in Horror Month and continues now with publications and sites such as Grim Magazine, Anatomy of a Scream, Suspiria Magazine, Graveyard Shift Sisters and Diabolique Magazine bodes well for the future.

Let’s return to the question at the heart of this debate: where are all of the queer female-identifying directors? Despite the disheartening statistics about the ratio of female to male directors (and in spite of Jason Blum’s hastily corrected statement about the lack of women interested in directing horror), the horror genre is flush with talented women. “Out” female queers, however? Not so much.

A deep dive online (and help from HorrorTwitter) revealed only two feature filmmakers: Kimberly Peirce, who directed the 2013 remake of Carrie, and Stewart Thorndike, who directed indie micro-budget “lesbian Rosemary’s Baby” film Lyle (2014). Singer St Vincent (nee Anne Erin Clark) directed one of the segments of the all-female horror anthology, XX (2017), though she seems unlikely to return to the director’s chair in the near future. There are undoubtedly a number of other up and coming talents working in horror shorts, including Monika Estrella Negra, who is currently crowdsourcing the funding for her first feature, Two Sisters.

Despite advances in queer visibility both on and offscreen, there remains a gap in the horror genre. It is possible that filmmakers prefer to leave their mark on the screen rather than publicly disclose details about their personal lives, but the fact that there are so many heterosexual white men telling stories about lesbian characters in horror films is a potentially problematic trend. On the cusp of what Vice is calling “the rebirth of lesbian horror movies”, let’s hope that a number of proud, “out” queer female-identifying directors emerge from the shadows to ensure their onscreen proxies bear an authentic touch.

Montréal Dead End is an adventurous anthology feature that is steeped in the geography of one of Canada’s most gorgeous cities. The self-proclaimed “no budget” horror film created by 18 different directors takes several different approaches that helps to set it apart from its anthology counterparts and while, like its peers, it’s not always successful, it’s worth checking out just to see how all of the pieces play together.

It’s traditional for anthologies to use a bracket storyline to link the various entries together or provide some kind of thematic through-line. Montréal Dead End opts more for the latter approach, but intriguingly chooses to intersperse the ongoing storyline throughout the film. The film’s opening introduces a noxious green gas escaping from a sinkhole in the middle of the city and the remainder of the film explores the endless stream of terrors and monsters that arise in the mist’s wake (zombies and cannibals, mostly) in different parts of the city.

As the film progresses, it is revealed that the gas is tied to a forthcoming apocalypse that can only be prevented if the Guardian and the Archivist (Jérémie Earp-Lavergne) read from a powerful spell book within 24 hours of the gate opening. These segments tend to feature encounters between the Guardian and an agent of darkness with their own agenda (the Baron of Montréal North or the Priestess of Outremont, for example), but they’re rather repetitive and, most disappointingly, the resolution of the bracket storyline (ie: the climax of the film) occurs far too quickly and is resolved in an underwhelming fashion.

The other issue with Montréal Dead End is that the quality of the shorts vary dramatically. Because there are so many filmmakers involved, many of the 15 segments are quite short; at times this proves to be a minor blessing, but more often than not the need to cram in more ends up cutting off a promising story. Not unlike The ABCs of Death, the sheer number of shorts overwhelms the proceedings, so much so that they bleed together and become difficult to distinguish from one another. It also makes the 87 minute long film feel much longer than it actually is.

Thankfully there are several hidden gems. Many of the shorts that lean into comedy fare best (possibly because it’s easier to deliver a punchline than develop a mood, build tension and pay off a scare in the same amount of time). Among the strongest shorts are:

The Marché Atwater: Tom prepares for a date by cooking dinner, but when his produce from the market begins attacking him, the kitchen becomes a battlefield.

Villeroy: A lonely girl discovers a mutated man in a back alley, and befriends with candy. An unlikely friendship quickly arises in this cute, but too brief segment.

Mile-End: An interracial lesbian zombie couple barters body parts with a local grocer in anticipation of a romantic/icky dinner date.

Parc Lafontaine: I’m 50/50 on this short, which literally mines the exchange of bodily fluids for comedy. What starts off humourously with a couple who swap bodies after they kiss becomes both vulgar and stupid when a semen joke results in penises on a face. Proof that a good concept can go very badly, very quickly.

Beaubien: My favourite of all of the segments, this English & French comedy short focuses on a cutesy couple who ignorantly miss all of the signs that everyone around them has disappeared or died (and reanimated). An obvious, but still very funny bit finds them peering into a cafe window, repeatedly avoiding a malicious attempt to murder them with a pair of flower pots from above. Throw in a Celine Dion joke and this segment is a winner.

Several of the more horrific shorts are also enjoyable, but too many lean on familiar trappings: cannibals and/or zombies. One nearly silent short set in the The Village starts out promisingly: a pair of girlfriends fight about one’s wandering eye in a gorgeous purple neon-lit dance club. A strange man follows them home and lurks outside of the window as the envious philanderer first resists, then initiates sex, culminating in a physical attack. The association of carnal longing and food is subtle and effective, but the short has barely begun before it’s over. Contrast this with a meandering silent short about an old woman who is recruited for a bath by a group of feral children in the woods that is interminable.

Clearly not all of shorts are made equal.

Montréal Dead End plays the Blood in the Snow Film Festival Sat, Nov 24 at 9:30pm EST.

Opening this year’s Blood in the Snow film festival is director Lowell Dean’s Supergrid, a loving homage to dystopian road movies like George Miller’s Mad Max series:

SuperGrid is set in a near future where mining conglomerates have turned Canada into a wasteland. Two brothers must travel the same road that claimed their sister’s life in their quest to deliver mysterious cargo. En route they must contend with road pirates, rebel gangs, and each other.

Quick Review:

You know what you’re signing up for when you buy a ticket to SuperGrid. This is a film that dutifully checks all of the action movie checkboxes:

Heroes whose gruff exteriors mask soft emotional interiors

A fraught family dynamic based in tragedy

A bitter ex who secretly (or not so secretly) still loves the hero

A cruel totalitarian dictator who is only interested in his own power base

A henchman (or in this case hench woman) who does all of the heavy lifting in the action sequences

A variety of explosive/violent set pieces, varying from heists to shoot-outs while driving

A communal uprising of the people to combat the despot

The fact that T.R. McCauley and Justin Ludwig’s script hews so closely to conventional tropes of the genre could be seen as disappointing, but Canadian action films remain a rarity so this Saskatchewan-shot production feels both ambitious and unique. Considering the minuscule $1.2M budget, Dean delivers some impressive visuals, particularly in regard to the futuristic dystopian world-building.